


Three Lies, A Few Friends, and A Wedding

by RubyLipsStarryEyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Neville Longbottom, Christmas Fluff, Complete, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Angst, Meddling, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Wedding Dates, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28353192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/pseuds/RubyLipsStarryEyes
Summary: Pansy tells three lies, a few friends are extremely meddlesome, and a wedding threatens to ruin it all.{COMPLETE}
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode/Charlie Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Severus Snape/Percy Weasley, Severus Snape/Percy Weasley/Terry Boot, Viktor Krum/George Weasley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Three Lies, A Few Friends, and A Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gcgraywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to @GCGrayWriter, the Paneville queen and a dear friend. Love you!

Pansy flicked the heavy, expensive envelope across the table. At any other time, an invitation to one of her oldest friends’ Italian destination wedding would be a welcome change to the monotony of her life. Now though… She’d broken things off with Anthony Goldstien less than a week before, and the sting of yet another failed relationship hadn’t quite worn off yet. Draco Malfoy, Graham Montague, a semi interesting week or two with Breccan McClaggen, Terrence Higgs, even a quick fling with Ernie MacMillan had all ended in flames. And those were just the ones that had lasted long enough to be considered a “relationship.”

She sighed, and straightened her pencil skirt before stepping through the floo. She had to go to work, and stewing over Blaise’s upcoming nuptials would have to wait. She emerged into the Ministry of Magic Atrium, and strode towards the coffee cart, joining the queue, arms crossed across her chest.    
  
“Even for a Monday you look particularly sour.” A deep voice behind her had her turning and scowling. 

“Fuck off, Longbottom. Just because you don’t work a normal week doesn’t mean the rest of us are happy to be here on a Monday.” He chuckled, and Pansy nearly lost her scowl. Almost.

“Oh lay off, Pans.” Neville grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. “This doesn’t happen to have something to do with the pretty gold invitation I got to the Italian alps this morning, does it?”

Pansy snorted humorlessly. “How’d you guess.”

“Because you look about how I felt to get invited to my ex’s wedding to the guy she left me for.” He shrugged, and Pansy cringed at the bitter edge to his voice. She’d somehow managed to forget that particular detail. Neville had dated Ginny Weasley for several months before she’d ended up with Blaise. 

“You’re not going, are you?” Pansy was curious as to why he’d been invited at all, given the history. 

“Undecided.” He jerked his chin, and Pansy took several steps forward to close the gap created by the moving queue. “You?”    
  


“I don’t go to weddings alone.” Pansy reached for her purse to pay for the cup the barista was preparing, but Neville was already reaching past her with a flash of silver. He handed her one of the two cups, and raised his own. “Thanks, Longbottom, but I don’t--” 

“Just take the coffee and cheer up. It’s my last weekend shift. Next week I’m back to Monday through Friday. Oh, and we closed the Markson case last night. You’ll be in press conferences all day. You’ll need it.” He winked and strode off across the Atrium. Pansy blinked after the retreating figure in scarlet aurors robes. 

She shook herself from her study of the man’s shoulders and confident stride, and hurried to her own office. As the junior public relations officer for the Ministry of Magic, Pansy got saddled with the small case press releases… Like the Markson case. A halfway-inept potions dealer that was selling poorly-brewed beauty potions that were poisoning his customers. He’d attempted to set it right by selling them the antidote disguised as another beauty regimen, but it had been just as poorly brewed as the original and had made it worse… And in the process turned the victim’s skin a rather nasty shade of chartreuse. 

Neville had been correct, and by the end of an extremely taxing day including far too many references to bat spleens for her liking, she entered the lift wondering if her favorite Indian takeaway would be enough to fix her mood, or if she needed to threaten Draco with a mild hexing to get a halfway decent bottle of elf-made wine out of his father’s wine cellars. 

“Anyone home?” Pansy looked around to find Neville watching her with an amused expression.    
  
“Pardon?” 

“I said you look worse than you did this morning. Do you want to come for a drink at the Broken Wand?”    
  
Pansy flushed. She must’ve been especially distracted to miss the invitation. Which reminded her… 

“I should go home and figure out what to do about that bloody invitation. Maybe another time?” It was a weak excuse. RSVP’s weren’t due for weeks, but she didn’t know if she had the stamina to spend an evening with someone like Neville after a day like today. 

“More of a reason to come out and forget about it for an evening. Come on Parkinson. Or are you afraid you’re going to end up on the table again?” Pansy had the strong desire to smack his lop-sided smile off his face, but she grit her teeth instead. 

“It’s a work night for some of us, Longbottom. I won’t be having more than a glass or two of wine.” She lifted her chin, and his grin widened. 

“Great. I knew you’d see it my way. Come on, now. It’ll be fun.” He took her by the elbow and steered her out of the lift and through the atrium. 

“Hey! I meant wine at  _ home!”  _ She glared at him, but it didn’t seem to have the normal effect on him. Instead of looking properly terrified, he looked amused. The audacity,  _ really.  _

“Look me in the face and tell me you’d rather sit and stew over an invitation at home alone with a bottle of Malfoy’s wine than complain about it with someone in the same boat over a pie and drinks. My treat.” His challenging look had her caving, and she glared at him. 

“How’d you know it would be a bottle of Draco’s wine?” His grin widened further, and he jerked his head towards the floo. 

“I’ll tell you over dinner.” 

XXX

Three weeks later, she was down to a single day left to either find a date for Blaise’s wedding, or decline the invitation. It was a Friday afternoon, and she sat at her desk at the ministry, tapping the envelope agitatedly against her inkwell. 

“Made up your mind yet?” Neville’s voice came from her doorway, and she smothered the smile that came with his increasingly frequent appearances in her office. 

“No,” she lied. She sighed, and dropped the invitation to her desk top, leaning forward to eye the man leaning casually against the doorframe. He was in the auror’s dress robes, and she remembered he’d been due to testify before the Wizengamot in the Markson case that afternoon. “But I don’t have a date, and I told you, I don’t go to weddings alone.” 

He hummed as he came in, settling in the chair across her desk, facing her. “So take a friend. You’d be gutted to miss Blaise’s wedding.”    
  
His words gave her the opening she’d been anticipating for the last week and a half. “What about you? Have you decided?” 

He grimaced. “No. I’m happy for Gin, but going alone sounds awful.” 

Pansy carefully arranged her features in a mask of indifference. “So why don’t we go together?” Pansy was a tad bit worried that if his eyes opened any wider, she’d be picking his eyeballs up off the floor. “I mean as friends. We’d be guaranteed to be sat together so we didn’t have to deal with smalltalk with people we don’t know or hate, we wouldn’t have to endure the shame of going alone but it would still give us the opportunity to shag whoever we wanted. Come on, now. It’ll be fun.” 

She sat back and watched the wheels behind his eyes turn. It was an ingenious solution, if she did say so herself. Now that Neville was at the Ministry during the week days, she’d found herself bumping into him more and more, and genuinely appreciated his company. He wasn’t a bumbling idiot like half the auror department, nor was his ego overinflated, despite being famous for his role in the downfall of the Dark Lord. He was rather humble, and quite funny once given the chance, not to mention much more observant than she ever would have guessed. A long weekend in Italy with him wasn’t the worst prospect she’d ever faced. Far from it, in fact. 

“I’ll do it on one condition.” Neville sat back in the chair, one of his charming, lop-sided grins playing at his lips. 

XXX

“The Wizengamot has not come to a unanimous decision yet. The public will be notified if and when Mr Markson has been proven guilty. Until such time, The Ministry of Magic is asking for patience as they allow for due course.” 

“That’s a cop out answer, Pans.” 

“It’s the official Ministry release, Daph. Sorry I can’t give you more yet.” Pansy flipped through several more hangers at Twilfitt and Tatting’s while Daphne sighed, snapped her notebook shut and put it away. 

“Fine. Are you going to tell me who you’re going to Blaise’s wedding with? It’s obviously not Anthony. Don’t tell me you went crawling back to that slimeball Montague just for this.” Daphne pulled a peach dress free, holding it up in the mirror.    
  
“Not your colour, dear,” the mirror told her, and Daphne scowled before putting it back. 

“Oh didn’t I tell you? Neville and I made it official weeks ago. We sent in our RSVP’s together.” 

Daphne gaped at her. “RSVP’s had to be in two MONTHS ago. You’ve been dating Neville Fucking Longbottom since  _ October _ and you didn’t tell me?” 

Pansy shrugged. “I thought I did. And besides, Miss ‘I’m-going-to-shag-Ron-Weasley-for-six-months-before-telling-anyone-because-I’m-afraid-of-his-mother,’ you don’t have a leg to stand on. Besides, it’s not as if it will go anywhere.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, pulling a baby pink gown free and passing it to her friend.

“Are you sure about that? He got fit after--”   
  


“We’re not talking about this. Now try the dress on.” 

Daphne shoved the dress back at her. “Pink will look horrid with Ron’s hair. You try it on.”    
  
“I don’t wear pink,” Pansy protested, but she caught her reflection in the enchanted mirror behind Daphne. It didn’t look half bad. 

“You should, dear,” the mirror sighed. “You look lovely in pink.” 

“I bet Longbottom will appreciate that neckline, too,” Daphne giggled, eyeing the plunging V. Pansy rolled her eyes. 

“I think black will do, thank you very much,” she snapped, leading Daphne away from the rose-coloured gown and the blasted mirror. She didn’t need to think about her fake boyfriend’s reaction to her cleavage in a dress that she wouldn’t be caught dead in.

XXX

“Morning Sunshine. Ready for this fun filled weekend?” Pansy smirked at Neville’s scowl as he peered out the crack in the door. She held up the coffee cup, and he opened the door wide enough for her to squeeze in, huddling behind the door away from the icy wind that accompanied her and her luggage. 

“I didn’t think ‘bright and early’ actually meant early,” he grumbled, shutting the door firmly behind her and taking the coffee. 

“Well I don’t know what time the house elves will be here to collect our bags and if Blaise finds out my things weren’t here, he’ll know we’re lying, and he’ll tell Ginny. Then we’ll get the judgy eyes from her and her mother, and I thought the entire point of this was to make sure that you didn’t get the ninth degree from your almost-monster-in-law.” Pansy unwound her scarf as she spoke, looking around Neville’s flat curiously. 

“Fine, you made your point.” He took a sip of the coffee and nodded in what Pansy took as approval. “Make yourself at home, then. I just woke up and I need to get dressed.” 

“Oh, I thought you were going like that,,” she said sarcastically, taking in his sleep-mussed hair, plain grey t-shirt, and dark boxer shorts.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile touched his lips. She left her bags by the door and ventured through the entryway to the living area, rather surprised to find it quite tidy. Her last-- well,  _ several _ boyfriends had all been slobs, but besides a book on the side table nearest the fireplace and the last several days’ worth of  _ Daily Prophet  _ editions on the coffee table, it was damn near as clean as her own flat. She could hear him moving through the flat behind her and the sound of a tap being turned on, so she took a seat and picked up the book, flipping it over to examine the cover. 

It was her favorite book, the one she’d recommended to him the week before. She leafed through it, trying to find a bookmark, but couldn’t find one, so she flipped to her favorite scene and read until Neville reappeared, his sandy hair now neatly combed and tucking a clean white shirt into dark slacks. 

“Good book,” he noted, and she closed it, looking up. “I finished it last night. Hell of a twist there at the end. I thought for sure the maid did it.” 

“It's even better the second time through,” she told him, setting it aside. “But she’s got plenty of others if you liked it.” She was secretly quite pleased that he’d actually read it. 

He nodded to a package on the mantle she hadn’t noticed before, wedged as it was halfway behind a large potted plant. “I knew I was going to finish it, and I wanted another to take with us. I picked up the next one on the way home from work yesterday. You’re more than welcome to bring it though.” 

“I might just.” Pansy set the book aside and watched him settle on the sofa, looking completely at ease. It was interesting to see the differences in his mannerisms from the time they’d gone out to being in his own element. He reminded her much more of the sweet, shy boy she’d known in school rather than the confident, successful auror he’d become. He reached out, absent mindedly stroking another plant’s softly fluttering leaves as one might pet a cat. “Do you have someone to care for them while you’re away?” Pansy didn’t know why she cared, but he obviously was very attentive to the plants. 

“Pomona will be ‘round to check on them a couple times. I think she offered just to get her hands on my peace lily. She thinks I have some charm on it and refuses to believe it’s just happy where it is.” He pointed at the plant that had been hiding the book, and Pansy cocked her head. 

“Peace lily?” 

“ Spathiphyllum.  It’s considered to be a muggle plant, but it's actually magical. It’s very sensitive to emotions… A lot of muggles have them at funerals, but they do best in happy environments. It was doing really poorly there at the end with Gin… I should have listened, but hindsight, as they say.” He shrugged. “It’s been much better the last two months or so. Pomona was surprised at her turnaround last time she and Rolanda were here--” 

“Wait. Pomona and Rolanda? As in Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch?” Pansy gaped at him, and he looked suddenly uncertain. 

“Yes?” 

“Ok Spout I can understand,” she waved at the plants, “but Hooch? Did you ever even  _ touch  _ a broomstick after first year?” 

Neville rolled his eyes. “It would be rude not to invite her wife just because I don’t like to fly. And I’ll have you know I passed defensive flying maneuvers in the academy with  _ flying colours.”  _ He smirked slightly at his own pun, and Pansy just stared as her brain caught up with what he was saying. 

“They’re  _ married?”  _

Neville cocked his head at her, and dissolved into hearty laughs that shook his whole frame. Normally Pansy would have been deeply offended at being laughed at, but against all odds, she began to giggle herself, until she was bent in half, tears trickling down her cheeks. 

Later, when she was retrieving the wrapped book for Neville to tuck into his weekender bag, she could have sworn the peace lily was perkier than it had been when she’d first gotten there, the leaves a brighter green, but she shook it off, thinking she was reading into it. It was happy because of Neville’s attentive care, nothing more. 

XXX

“Mister Longbottom, Miss Parkinson. Welcome to Castello Zabini.” The head house elf had a much deeper voice than Pansy was accustomed to from the creatures, and it was heavily accented. “You have been placed on the third floor, in the west wing. Dolce will show you to your suite, and will attend you during your stay.” He motioned to another house elf, this one distinctly female, in a ruffled dress with a neatly pressed apron embroidered with a stylized Z and her name. “Please do not hesitate to ask for anything you may need or desire.” 

“Uh… I believe we requested separate rooms?” A hint of discomfort touched Neville’s voice, and the head house elf flipped through a clipboard filled with neat print, his face showing immediate distress.

“Master Zabini indicated that was a mistake, sir. I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding, I can try to--”

“No, Blaise was right. Don’t worry.” She slipped her hand around Neville’s arm and squeezed.  _ Don’t say anything,  _ she begged him silently. 

“Exactly. Just wanted to make sure it got sorted.” Neville’s voice sounded slightly strangled, but the house elf visibly relaxed.

“Very good, sir. Dolce?” 

“Follow me, please.” The other house elf’s high-pitched voice was much more familiar, and Pansy loosened her grip slightly as they followed her to the suite. Once they were inside and had waved Dolce on, Pansy released him completely.

“I’m going to  _ kill him, _ ” she fumed. “Bloody meddling fool. He deserves being stuck with Molly Weasley as a mother-in-law!” Neville lifted his brows, clearly waiting for an explanation. “This is his way of testing to see if we’re actually dating,” she sat heavily on the settee, rolling her eyes. “He and Daph both didn’t believe me because apparently I can’t date someone without bitching about them.” She dropped her voice into a poor imitation of Blaise, and mimicked his latest lecture. “Pansy your standards are far too high. Not all of us can find perfection. In fact, I think I snatched up the last perfect being in Britain. Maybe you should try France. Or Germany.” 

Neville rolled his eyes at that, and Pansy waved a hand dismissively. “I think he’s an idiot, and you shouldn’t lower your standards. You deserve perfection too.” He sat on the settee beside her. “But if we’re sharing I just have to know one thing.” Pansy returned the questioning expression he’d given her earlier. “Do you snore? Because this won’t work if--” He was silenced when she hit him with a throw pillow. 

“No, I do not! And you better not either or you’re sleeping on the floor,” she laughed. 

They were still laughing when the clock announced it was time to prepare for the rehearsal dinner, and Pansy spent the entire time dressing wondering when she’d last laughed so much. 

XXX

“Ready for our first official appearance together?” 

Pansy looked up from where she was digging through her handbag, and momentarily forgot what the question was.  _ Since when did Neville wear tailored muggle suits? And since when did his arse look like that?  _

“Pansy?” Neville lifted his eyebrows, and Pansy cleared her throat. 

“What was that?” 

“Are you ready to go?” Neville had mastered looking amused without triggering her temper over the last weeks, but she found it mildly interesting that her stomach flipped when he looked at her like that. 

“I am, but I’d like to point out we’ve been making public appearances for months now.” She flipped her hair, hoping it covered her sudden nervousness. He hummed, a sound she equated with, ‘I don’t agree, but I’m going to let it go anyway.’ “What? We have!” 

Since the Markson case broke, Robards had been routinely sending Neville to the press conferences, which had suited Pansy just fine. It was better than watching Ron Weasley making heart-eyes at Daphne in the press box, or Sylvia Pence with her RBF or Owen Jamison making passes at her between bites of pastry with crumbs down the front of his uniform. 

“You know better than I do that there’s a difference between work and being seen at a wedding,” he murmured to her as they made their way down the hall. She huffed, but couldn’t dispute it. “If you get uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll back off,” he reminded her, and she was about to ask what he meant when he slid his arm behind her back. 

_ Right.  _ He’d told her right off the bat that he was a very physical person, and Ginny would know something was off immediately if they kept their distance. Pansy on a whole didn’t mind physical contact, but generally speaking wouldn’t seek it out. That is, she thought she wouldn’t. That was before Neville Longbottom was holding her against his very toned, very nice smelling body. Suddenly she didn’t just  _ not mind,  _ but she wanted  _ more.  _ Which was a very disconcerting realization indeed. 

One that had to be dissected later, because they very nearly bumped into a couple standing just inside the dining room doors, and Pansy only narrowly missed plowing into the man because Neville had been holding her so close.

“Sorry, love. How are you, Charlie?” Neville reached out and shook the redhead’s hand, and it was only then that the woman turned, and Pansy swallowed a gasp. 

“Millie?” Pansy hadn’t seen the girl in years, but the years had been far kinder to her former house-mate than was fair, really. A satin dress hugged voluptuous curves, and she stood proudly in designer high heels that even Pansy had only dreamt of wearing. 

“Pansy,” Millicent greeted her coolly. “My apologies. I was just warning Charles that if he thinks he’s going to allow his mother to get her claws in  _ our  _ wedding plans, he was going to die a long, slow,  _ painful  _ death.” It was only then that Pansy noticed the large emerald on her ring finger, but her attention was quickly pulled to Neville as he chuckled at Charlie’s sheepish expression. 

“This is what we get for falling for Slytherins,” Ron grumbled, joining them with Daphne rolling her eyes on his arm. “Welcome to the club, Nev. Good luck, you’ll need it.” 

“You only need luck if you think you’re wearing the pants,” another Weasley man added, joining the growing group with a lowball glass in his hand. Pansy couldn’t remember this one’s name, but recognized him as the rather uptight prefect from their early school days. 

Daphne snorted. “I’d love to see you try to tell him what to do, Percy. Might as well try telling a dragon ‘fetch’ and--” 

“And  _ what,  _ Miss Greengrass?” A silky voice that Pansy had thought she’d never hear again came from behind them, and Neville’s arm tightened around her waist. 

“Hello, Severus,” Millie greeted him easily, as if she hadn’t just witnessed their former professor rising from the dead. “Yes, Daphne, please do continue.” Millie’s eyes glinted in the low light of the dining room, and Pansy tried to not swallow her tongue when Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows and took the glass from the one Daphne had called Percy. 

“My, my. I never thought I’d see the day.” Snape’s sharp eyes flicked around the group, and Neville stiffened, his fingers digging near-painfully into Pansy’s waist. Pansy could practically feel Neville shrink back into the nervous student Snape had once terrorized in class, and Pansy didn’t care for the sudden shift in his demeanor. 

“If you’ll excuse us, I think I saw Draco…” Pansy didn’t wait to be excused, just pulled Neville away from the rather unlikely group toward a flash of blond hair in the opposite corner. 

“Did you know he was alive?” Neville hissed, and Pansy shook her head. “I knew this was going to be a nightmare but come on. Who’s next? Fucking Bellat--”

“Hello Narcissa,” Pansy said a tad louder than necessary, rendering Neville silent. “Have you seen Draco?” 

“Hello darling.” The statuesque woman surveyed them with shrewd eyes, and Pansy wondered if Neville was going to survive the evening if it kept going like this. “I believe my son-in-law was late, as usual, and Draco was trying to tame his hair.” She took a sip from the champagne flute in her hand, and Pansy was relatively sure it was to cover a muttered, “pointless,” but she just smiled at the woman that she’d once been closer to than her own mother. 

“Harry’s gotta love that,” Neville muttered, and Narcissa smirked. 

“Indeed. It continues to be a point of tension as I understand it. But nevermind their eccentricities. How is your grandmother?”    
  
Pansy saw a shadow of disbelief cross Neville’s face, but he was the picture of propriety when he answered, “she’s very well. Thank you, ma’am.” 

Narcissa waved a hand dismissively. “Narcissa, darling. But if you’ll excuse me. Amalia looks as if she’s about to murder the bride.” She strode off towards where the mother of the groom was addressing Ginny heatedly, and Neville let out a long sigh. 

“It’s like this is my own personal minefield,” he grumbled, but then brightened. “but now I know where you get that gesture.” Pansy barely had a chance to give him the confused expression they’d been sharing before he was mimicking Narcissa’s dismissive hand wave. “You do it all the time. I’m assuming you picked it up from her. It’s cuter when you do it though.” 

Pansy shook her head, but couldn’t stop the smile that came with his rather astute observation. She’d have to pay closer attention to who else she emulated. 

XXX

Dinner was otherwise pleasant, and remarkably uneventful, all things considered. They’d been seated next to Harry and Draco, which meant Neville and Harry spent most of it talking shop, and Draco and Pansy whispered about the other wedding guests’ wardrobe choices. After dinner drinks had been monopolized by Victor Krum and one of the Weasley twins making Hermione Granger turn increasingly vibrant shades of red, and by the time they reached their room at the end of the evening, Pansy’s stomach hurt from laughing. 

The room felt chilly after the near-constant contact with Neville, and after changing from her cocktail dress to her pyjamas, she was wishing she’d packed something a little less revealing than the silk vest and shorts set. Hoping he was otherwise occupied, she darted from the bathroom and dove beneath the covers. 

She squealed when she ended up practically in his lap, and realized he was only wearing his shorts. 

“I mean when you said we could share this isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind,” he joked as she scrambled away. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and glared at him. Despite his joking, his cheeks were pink, and she was struck yet again by how he was still the easily flustered boy in a man’s body.

“It’s fucking  _ cold,  _ and when I said share the bed, I very much meant taking opposite sides.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, acutely aware of how thin the fabric felt over her breasts.

“I can still take the floor,” he offered, but Pansy waved dismissively. Remembering his observation from earlier, she snatched her hand back, but he was already grinning at her.

“Go to bed, Longbottom,” she snapped, and his grin turned into a deep chuckle.

“I was trying, but I got attacked, Parkinson. You wouldn’t know about that, though, would you?” 

“Of course not,” she sniffed, but as she lay back against the pillows after he’d turned the lights off with a flick of his wrist, she listened to his breathing, and for perhaps the millionth time since agreeing to this ridiculous plan, wondered why she’d said yes. 

XXX

“Pansy, get your arse out of bed!”    
  
“Go away. We don’t have potions til ten,” she mumbled, being drawn from an odd dream that had featured Neville in sweeping black robes like the ones Professor Snape had worn, and Draco riding a gold dragon with a red underbelly. 

“I don’t care what time it is. I’m not going back to potions,” a deep voice yawned in her ear, and she opened her eyes to find that at some point during the night she’d migrated, and ended up with her head on Neville’s chest.

She was still trying to process how she’d ended up there when Daphne burst into the room, fully dressed and entirely too awake. She stopped dead when she saw Pansy draped across Neville’s bare chest, her eyebrows flying towards her hairline. “Well if I didn’t believe it before, I do now. Damn, Longbottom. When did you get so fit?” 

Pansy groaned, and yanked the sheet up over her head, simultaneously hiding her burning face and Neville’s apparent nakedness. Unfortunately, it brought Neville’s morningwood to her full and undivided attention. Based on the tent she was now staring down, Neville was surprisingly well endowed. Because of  _ course  _ her  _ fake  _ boyfriend would be bigger than the men that she  _ actually  _ dated. 

“GO AWAY,” she barked at Daphne, but she should have known it wouldn’t deter her best friend, because she felt the mattress dip under her weight where she sat near Neville’s feet. 

“Er… Can we help you?” Neville’s voice sounded muffled from where she hid under the sheet, further distorted by the vibrations that radiated from his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, rather than picture what she wanted to do under these sheets that definitely was not just hiding. Merlin, it had been too long since she’d had a good shag. 

“Ginny’s hen do is an all day event, which means Pansy here needs to be dressed in the next ten minutes, or about two dozen female quidditch players are going to be in here admiring your…  _ physique.”  _ Daphne laughed.

“I don’t even like her, why do I have to go?” Pansy threw the sheet down and sat straight up, glaring at her friend, secretly grateful for the excuse to no longer be under the sheet with the erection that was nearly as big as the bloody snake he’d killed. From the corner of her eye, she could see that the color of his cheeks rivaled the colour of a Gryffindor scarf.

“You don’t like her since when? Last spring you were singing her praises for that article--” Daphne belatedly realized her faux pas when Neville cleared his throat pointedly.    
  


“Aaaaand that was before she…. Riiiiiight.” Daphne tossed her hair and shrugged. “Well honestly it looks like you got the better end of the deal anyway, maybe you should be thanking her. You too, Longbottom. At least Pansy isn’t built like a bloody broomstick--” 

“DAPHNE GET OUT,” Pansy yelled, throwing one of the eiderdown pillows at her. 

“Fine! You don’t have to be so testy, Gods. But if you want a quicky, make it the fastest blow job you’ve ever given unless you’ve changed your mind on being watched because I wasn’t kidding about the quidditch players.” She dodged another pillow as she danced out of the room, and Neville dragged a hand over his face, that was surely boiling by now. 

“Ron was right. Percy was so very wrong. I definitely need some luck,” he mumbled, and Pansy left him to his grousing to get dressed, and to try to forget about what she couldn’t have. 

XXX   
  


When Daphne had said it was an all day event, Pansy hadn’t thought she was serious. But the bridal-shower-hen-do conglomerate was still going strong  _ fifteen hours later,  _ and she was surrounded by the giggling members of the Holyhead Harpies, and various other women that Pansy didn’t particularly care for. Luckily, Narcissa, Millie, Daphne, --and to her unending surprise, Hermione Granger-- were likewise unimpressed with the mass of giggling girls, and they’d congregated in the corner of one of the large sitting rooms. 

Pansy was aware that she’d had one too many glasses of wine, but when the conversation circled back around to Pansy’s relationship status, she still thought she was dreaming when Narcissa expressed her approval. “He’s lovely. Much better for you than that last bottom-feeder. What was his name? Terry?” 

“No, that was two back. The last one was Anthony,” Daphne supplied helpfully, and Pansy glared at her, earning herself a kiss blown at her. 

“What I would give for a Neville,” Hermione mumbled, clearly more drunk than the rest of the group. “Bloody Maid of Honor, and here alone. I’d like a Neville.” Millie gently took Hermione’s wine glass and set it aside. 

“Theo’s single,” Daphne offered, and Hermione snorted.

“I can’t sleep with the best man!” It was comical how scandalous Hermione found it, but then she kept going. “But he is a Slytherin. I am hearing  _ good  _ things about when they  _ slither in  _ to bed!” She giggled, obviously oblivious to the looks Daphne and Narcissa were shooting her from across the coffee table.    
  
“Okay. That’s enough! Bedtime!” Millie hauled Hermione to her feet, and Hermione smiled dreamily at her. 

“You’re very pretty. Did you know that?” 

“Yes, actually, I do know that. Charlie tells me daily. I also know you’re going to regret this in the morning, lightweight. Come on now.” Millie coaxed her out of the room, and Narcissa shook her head, looking as if she had a pile of dragon dung held under her nose. 

“Do you think my son will mind too terribly much if I silence the girl?”    
  
“Better you than me,” Daphne smirked. “But then I’d be more likely to go to the source, and Ron likes being gagged.” Pansy shook her head and drained her glass. That was not the image she needed. “For fuck’s sake Pansy stop looking like a kicked crup. Go find him if you’re going to mope.” Daphne pointed towards the door to make her point. 

She started to protest, but Narcissa interrupted. “I think it’s about time for all of us to retire. Goodnight, ladies. Enjoy.” Pansy decided she was much too drunk, because she was sure Narcissa had  _ winked.  _ Pansy shook her head and followed her from the drawing room. She briefly considered taking a detour to find where all the men had disappeared to, but the thought of stumbling across Snape and the Weasley brother in a dark corner was enough to dissuade her… And reminded her that she’d forgotten to grill them all to find out why they hadn’t warned her that he was alive. 

She was still stewing over her forgetfulness when she found their shared room by what she attributed to sheer luck… And the help of the house elf Dolce after she’d accidentally stumbled into a room she’d thought was hers, but the luggage at the foot of the bed was black, not the coffee-coloured leather of Neville’s bag and cream of her own. All the hallways looked the same, and the seemingly innumerable Christmas trees that had appeared overnight didn’t help. Narcissa had on several occasions that day complained that it was Amalia’s theatrical side coming out, and Pansy was inclined to agree it seemed rather unnecessary to wait for the guests to arrive to finish decorating purely for shock value. 

Luckily, the room had been empty, and the house elf had promptly showed her that she was two halls over before showing her to her own room, which she hoped was likewise empty. But when she slipped inside, she found Neville already in bed, propped against the headboard, reading the book he’d brought. He looked up, and Pansy felt as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He glanced at his watch, and huffed a laugh. 

“Damn they’re good.” 

Pansy was trying to get her shoes off without falling over, but managed an inquisitive hum. 

“Draco said his mum would get you out of there by 10:30 at the latest. It’s 10:20.” 

“Thank Merlin for Narcissa. That was the longest day ever. Drunk Granger is great though,” Pansy giggled. “Mind if I  _ slither in? _ ” She giggled again, fighting with the zip on her dress. 

“How much wine did you have?” Neville was wearing the amused expression again, and Pansy shrugged. It was definitely hitting her harder now that she was moving than it had before. 

“Too much.” 

“Ah. I see. Come here, then.” 

Pansy gasped theatrically. “I am a  _ lady!”  _

“One that’s going to sleep in her dress if you don’t come here for some help.” He set the book aside, and Pansy threw her head back, laughing. 

“I am  _ magic,  _ you know. I can get out of my clothes all by myself!” 

“Yes you can, but it’s easier if you just let me help you.” Even her alcohol-addled brain couldn’t refute his logic, and she sauntered over, allowing him to undo her dress. His fingers were warm as they dragged down the bare skin of her back, and she shuddered involuntarily. “Now go change and come to bed. You’re freezing.” Neville’s tone didn’t allow room for argument, not that she wanted to argue. It sounded like the best plan she’d ever heard. 

A few short minutes later, and she was wriggling down beneath the duvet, sighing happily. “Narcissa likes you.” 

“Oh?” She heard a page turn, and she nodded, the alcohol and warmth from his body that had seeped into the sheets relaxing her at an alarming rate. 

“Mhmm. I do too.” 

He chuckled, and she felt the weight of his hand settle on her back. “Go to sleep.” 

She attempted to articulate an appropriately sassy response, but sleep overtook her before she succeeded. 

XXX

The next two days were filled with far too many social engagements, but their fake relationship came easier and easier. From the way Neville would hold her hand or drape an arm over the back of her chair, to the way she’d tease him gently… It felt natural, and they seemed to be selling it to their friends. She thought they might actually make it through the weekend relatively unscathed, at least until the day before the wedding ceremony found them on the castle’s quidditch pitch. 

It had snowed the night before, and everyone had bundled up in multiple layers and warming charms, venturing out to make snowmen, snow angels, and in the case of the Weasley siblings and some of the others, snowballs. Fred-- Or maybe it was George?-- had dumped snow down the back of her jumper, and she was shrieking about the cold when Neville had captured her. She slid her ice-cold hands under his shirt, warming her fingers against his back, prompting him to release her. He’d retaliated in kind once he’d recovered from the shock by spreading his hands over her stomach under her jumper and burying his nose in her neck from behind, leading to more shrieks and giggles. 

“Man up and kiss her, it’s not like we don’t know what's happening behind closed doors,” Harry shouted from where he was systematically building a wall of snow bricks around his husband, whose pink nose and bright eyes were the only visible bits on him, the rest hidden underlayers of knit and fur. 

“If she hexes someone, you realize it will be you, not him, right?” Daphne called back before dropping a handful of snow down the back of Ron’s jumper and darting away. She hit a patch of ice though, and ended up tumbling into Blaise, who was “modeling” for Ginny’s snowman. 

Neville took advantage of the distraction to whisper in her ear, “are you okay with that?” 

“Make it a good one, Longbottom,” she whispered back, and he turned her in place to face him. 

“He was talking to Neville, you idiot,” Millie yelled, and they looked around to find Theo and Hermione kissing passionately. They broke apart at Millie’s shout, and Hermione flushed bright red. 

“Beat that, Longbottom,” Theo yelled, and Hermione swatted at his arm, but she couldn’t hide the pleased smile. 

“With pleasure, Nott!” Neville didn’t even give Pansy time to prepare herself before his hands were cupping her jaw and his lips were on hers. She had already been breathless from the cold, but the kiss stole the air from her lungs, and her fingers dug into his jumper, pulling him as close as possible. 

The people around them faded away, and Pansy swore she’d never been kissed like that. His tongue teased her own, and she melted into him. She could taste the peppermint that lingered and hear her heart pounding in her ears like she was some kind of third year having her first kiss all over again. But this was…  _ Better.  _ This was everything she’d been looking for in a single kiss… Until he pulled away. 

She halfway expected his eyes to flick towards Ginny, or to wrench himself out of her grasp, but he didn’t do any of that. No, he pressed his forehead to hers, their heavy breaths mingling in a white cloud between them. “Didn’t mean to get carried away there. Sorry—“

“Apologies bore me,” she whispered, becoming aware again of the wolf whistles and cheers coming from various individuals around the pitch. 

“Then you’re not going to hex me?” This close all she could see was his hazel eyes sparkling, and she smiled, tightening her grip on his jumper. 

“Not this time.” 

He landed a quick kiss on the end of her nose and straightened. “Good.” His crooked smile was going to be the death of her, she decided, but they were interrupted by a laughing Harry and a petulant-looking Draco, who had pulled his scarf down to expose more of his face to the elements. 

“We’re going in. My darling dragon doesn’t care for the snow. Want to join us for some mulled wine and some quiet?” Harry directed the question at Neville, but Pansy answered. 

“We’d love to. We’ve got books we’ve been neglecting.” She reluctantly released Neville’s jumper, but was pleased when he wrapped an arm around her. She couldn’t help but notice the piercing look they got from Ginny as the four of them trudged through the snow towards Castello Zabini. 

XXX

Pansy wasn’t entirely sure how she ended up asleep in Neville’s lap of all places, but she awoke some time later to the low murmur of the other wedding guests, and Neville’s chin resting on her head. She shifted, trying to sit up, but found there was a blanket firmly tucked around them, holding her against his chest. 

“Have a nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?” Neville’s low voice sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, and she stopped fighting the blanket, and instead sagged back into his hold, willing herself to remember how she’d gotten there. 

She remembered coming back to the castle, and Draco pouring them all  _ very _ generous amounts of wine before they settled into the chairs by the fire… Where Neville had pulled her into his lap and whispered that Draco was looking at them funny, and they should probably get cozy.

“Mmm. You’re quite a good pillow, you know that?” His answering chuckle made her heart leap, but it was quickly followed by crushing disappointment as she remembered the kiss they’d shared. A kiss that didn’t mean anything, because this wasn’t real. 

“I’ve gotten the impression, seeing as I can’t keep you off of me,” he joked lightly, and Pansy shrugged half heartedly. Tomorrow was the ceremony, and they’d be returning home the morning after that. Returning to real life, where this charade would end, because they weren’t actually dating. Pansy hadn’t expected the feeling of disappointment that would accompany the end of… whatever this was.

But that was still two days away, so she kept her eyes closed, and listened to his steady heartbeat until she drifted off again. 

The next time she awoke, it was to a woman’s voice coming from somewhere behind her, and the sensation of Neville stroking her hair gently. 

“...glad you came. I really did want to say sorry for how it ended between us.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. It worked out.” Neville’s voice was tight, and Pansy realized it was Ginny behind her. 

“It did, didn't it?” There was a pregnant pause, and then she continued, a bit more softly. “She’s good for you, Nev. I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with her. Don’t let her get away, hmm?” There was rustling, and then silence. 

“It seems to be the general consensus,” Pansy whispered after several long moments, and Neville’s hand stilled on her hair. 

“I guess we’re better actors than I thought, then,” he whispered back, and Pansy’s heart sunk again. It was all for show, then. How had she allowed herself to believe it was more than that? They’d made an agreement. Nothing more.

“What time is it?” 

“Nearly dinner time. I was going to wake you up in a bit so you could go change.” She nodded, inhaling deeply and stretching. Her nose was filled with the warm scent of cedar and vanilla, with something sweeter and earthier underlying it all. It was just…  _ him,  _ and she was struck again by how much she’d miss it. How much she’d miss him. 

“I’m just going to go change now.” Her eyes burned, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to cry in front of him, or the rest of the guests. He helped untangle her from the blanket, and she hurried away, trying to find their room before the tears spilled over. 

Of course, her luck being shite as it was, meant that she didn’t make it, and she bumped into a solid figure just as the first drops trickled down her cheeks. “Sorry I didn’t—“

“Apologies bore me, Miss Parkinson.” Severus Snape looked distinctly unimpressed. “And so do tears.” She snapped her mouth shut before she said something she’d regret, emotions as high as they were. She reached up to brush the tears away with her sleeve, but he held up a clean handkerchief, “SS” embroidered in the corner. “But I have the distinct impression yours are valid, if not appropriate.” 

“I thought you were dead,” she bit out, refusing to acknowledge his dissection of her emotional state. 

“Yes, it’s been lovely. I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t at the request of the one man whose happiness matters more to me than my own. But that makes two of us, doesn’t it, Miss Parkinson?” His dark eyes cut through her, and more tears gathered in her own. 

“Obviously, I wouldn’t be dating him if his happiness didn’t matter, now would I?” The acid in her tone would have earned her detention had they still been in school, she was sure of it. But he just arched an eyebrow. 

“And yet you continue to look at him as some unattainable venture. A hero on a pedestal, a god among men.” 

“I do not—“ 

“You may lie to yourself, and your little friends, Miss Parkinson. But I know better.” With that, he swept down the hall in his billowing black robes, leaving her tear-stained and grasping his handkerchief like a lifeline. 

XXX 

“Are you feeling alright?” Daphne narrowed her eyes at Pansy, and she snorted. 

“I’m fine.” 

It was after dinner now, and they’d all congregated in another one of the drawing rooms. Neville, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Theo, and Charlie were in the middle of an animated game of charades with the Harpie team, while Pansy, Daphne, Draco, Blaise, and Millie watched, out of range of flailing limbs and magical sparks. 

“You look like that time you lost my cat,” Millie told her, her eyes never leaving the game before them. 

“I didn’t lose him, he was mad at Tracey. And I do not.” 

“Well you’re surely not breaking up with Longbottom. Is he dumping you after this fiasco?” Blaise motioned with his glass around the room full of chattering guests, and Draco snorted. 

“You’re the one that had to have a destination wedding.”

“Because if I hadn’t insisted, Molly would have gone berserk and I didn’t have the patience to deal with her taking everything personally. Simple matter of self preservation,  _ drago.”  _

“It’s not even that bad,” Daphne observed, and Blaise snorted. 

“I’ll believe that when both my wife and my mother emerge alive. Bonus points of the wedding planner comes out the other side still speaking to us, though Snape seems to keep them in line…”

“Terry can hold their own just fine,” Millie said, her eyes flicking to where Terry Boot sat laughing at a low table with Percy and Snape. 

“Perhaps so, but I wouldn’t bet a single shiny sickle on it.” 

“That’s just because you’re a tightwad, Blaise.” Draco smirked at their friend, but turned his attention back to Pansy. “And you look like you belong at a funeral. What is your problem? You’re usually a hoot at weddings. I was hoping you’d be dancing on the tables like you did at ours.”

Pansy scowled at Draco. “That was Ernie’s fault for getting me drunk.” 

“You broke up with him at the after party!” Daphne laughed, and Blaise huffed imperiously. 

“Wanker deserved it.”

“Okay. You lot won’t be convinced that I’m fine, so I’m going to bed. Nighty night!” She escaped the knot of her former schoolmates, and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the room. 

She changed and slipped into bed, breathing in the calming scent of Neville’s cologne that still clung to the sheets. She couldn’t stop the tears that wet her pillow when she thought of how it would feel to go back to her own bed without him. 

XXX

“I do.” 

“You may now kiss the bride.” The officiant beamed at Blaise and Ginny, and Pansy watched several of the women dab at their eyes with handkerchiefs. Blaise kissed his new wife thoroughly, and led her back down the aisle to cheers from the guests. 

Neville clapped politely beside her, and Pansy smiled pointedly as Draco caught her eye, following the couple down the aisle as one of Blaise’s groomsmen. 

They waited patiently as the guests began to filter out of the castle’s chapel and towards the ballroom, and Pansy had to make a conscious effort not to cringe when Neville brought his arm around her to guide her down the aisle. 

She’d woken that morning to her head on his chest once again, and the looming end of what had amounted to a near-perfect weekend filled her with equal parts dread and preemptive grief. She wasn’t sure if Neville had noticed her withdrawing, but he had been equally quiet that day, and left her to her thoughts during breakfast and the luncheon.

Now the ceremony was over, she didn’t feel quite so guilty about taking the first glass of wine she could find and downing it in one. Draco was right. She was  _ fun  _ at weddings. 

The happy couple was announced, and Blaise swept Ginny into their first dance, a full orchestra playing behind them. 

“She looks lovely,” Pansy said quietly as the song ended, and others began to join them on the dance floor. 

“Dance with me.” He held his hand out for hers, and she laughed. “Come on now. It’ll be fun.” He echoed the words that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. So she allowed him to lead her onto the floor. 

He’d gotten much better since the Yule ball their fourth year, and she tried not to think of tomorrow as he pulled her in close, his hands sure and steady on her own hand and back. Christmas trees decorated in red and silver flashed past her field of vision as he spun her around the floor, and her vision blurred.

“I thought coming was going to be the worst mistake of my life, but it might be the best weekend I’ve ever had.” He pulled her even closer, so their chests were pressed together as they danced. 

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, and they came to a stop, there in the middle of the floor. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

His leading hand let go of hers, and he threaded his fingers through her carefully arranged curls, tilting her head back to look into her eyes. His hazel eyes were clear and bright, and held the determination only a Gryffindor could muster. 

“I mean it.” 

Their lips crashed together, and for the second time in as many days, Pansy thought that she’d never been kissed like  _ that.  _ His lips tasted like wine and desperation, and the kiss left her head spinning. He steered her off the dancefloor and into a hidden alcove. He held her closer, his lips working against her own until she broke the kiss, gasping for breath. He kissed down her jaw and across her collarbone, never stopping. 

“Neville!” She whimpered, clawing at his sides to draw him closer, but the sound of his name seemed to bring him back to his senses. His lips stilled, and his grip on her hips loosened as he took a step back. 

“Pans I’m sorry I--” 

“Stop apologizing and keep kissing me you idiot!” Pansy’s patience was wearing thin as her knickers grew steadily wetter. After months without sex, then four days and three nights of close proximity, feeling the hard lines of his body against her own, and the intimate knowledge of what a nice package he kept hidden under those robes, she was aching for more. He met her eyes, silently searching her face for confirmation. Whatever he saw in the face must’ve been enough, because he leaned down, and kissed her again, gently this time. 

“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth, and she leaned into his hold. Snape had been right. She wanted him too, and she couldn’t continue to lie. 

“Wait.” Her hands were still fisted around his shirt, and when she peered up at him in the dim light, his hazel eyes held disappointed acceptance. “Narcissa invited us to Christmas tea next week. I told her I’d check with you because I didn’t want to deny outright but I didn’t know if--” 

He stepped back, and shook his head. “Pansy, you don’t’--”

‘I don’t want to lie. And I don’t want to say no.” It came out in a rush.”I want to go to Christmas tea because I don’t want to go back to England and stop whatever it is we’re doing because--” 

Her reasoning was cut off by another bruising kiss. “Thank Merlin. Do you have any idea how hard you are to read?” He pressed his forehead to hers again, and her heart stuttered. 

“Do you mean that you--” 

“I mean that when we leave this corner, I want to take you back to our room and make you  _ mine.  _ No more pretending. I want to go to Christmas tea. I want you to fall asleep in my lap after you’ve had too much mulled wine and I want to keep waking up with your bloody hair in my mouth. Gods Pansy! I want it all.” His eyes burned with sincerity, and she slid her hand down his arm until their fingers tangled together. 

“For Circe’s sake please take me back to our room.  _ Now.” _

Neville didn’t waste another minute, just pulled her back into the light of the ballroom. Together they skirted around the edge of the room, dodging various guests and earning knowing looks from Draco, Narcissa, and Millie. They didn’t even make it halfway down the hallway before Pansy pulled him behind a Christmas tree and sucked a purple mark over his collarbone while he left fingerprints in her thighs, struggling to stay quiet under her wandering hands. 

It was only due to an impressive show of control that Neville was able to lead her back into the hallway and towards their room. Reaching the door, he pressed her back against the solid wood, easing his knee between her thigh. She let her head fall back, the solid “thunk” covered by her moan as she ground against him, his erection digging into her hip. 

The door swung inwards, and both of them nearly lost their balance. Pansy stumbled, only held upright by Neville’s strong hands around her waist. The black-clad figure that invaded her vision was all too familiar, and she bit back a curse. 

“What an....  _ unexpected…  _ surprise.” Severus Snape’s voice was silk being dragged over a blade. “Though I should commend you, Longbottom. Perhaps you aren’t as much of a dunderhead as I previously assumed, if you were able to puzzle out Miss Parkinson’s affections. Though you’ll have to find accommodations elsewhere. This room is at capacity.” 

A giggle came from behind him, and when he shifted to shoot a look over his shoulder, Pansy caught a glimpse of the bespectacled Weasley brother tied in intricate knots, head bobbing rhythmically while suspended over the bed, where a pair of bright pink heels she was relatively certain belonged to Terry Boot were planted against the headboard, leaving little to the imagination as to why Percy looked as if he was bobbing for apples. 

“Sorry Professor,” Neville gasped. “Wrong room!” He grasped Pansy’s wrist and wrenched her down the hall. Pansy had never seen him move so quickly, and was out of breath when they reached their own room, two halls over. When the door clicked firmly shut behind them, they shared a wide eyed glance, and promptly dissolved into incredulous laughter. 

They were still laughing when they tumbled into bed, and Pansy’s last coherent thought before Neville’s tongue against the insides of her thighs robbed her of rationality was that she would never get tired of his laugh. 

XXX

Two weeks later, they were curled on the sofa in Neville’s flat, and Pansy was pleasantly tipsy and warm after an afternoon spent at the Potter-Malfoy residence. Neville had pulled her into his lap and was reading the third installment of her favorite series, but she was distracted from the pages by the steading stroking of his fingers through her hair. 

“I’m glad our lie turned out better than this,” he murmured, turning a page. “They’re bloody idiots if they think they’ll get away with it.” 

“Best three lies I’ve ever told. But did we really get away with it?” She traced around one of the buttons of his shirt with one finger, and his hand stilled. 

“Three?” 

“One, that we were dating. Two, that I hadn’t made up my mind that I’d be going with anyone other than you. Three… That I wasn’t already a goner for this plant-obsessed guy with a cute arse.” 

He chuckled, the sound radiating through her body and making her smile sleepily. 

“Then I better not lie and say I’m not totally in love with this crafty witch with the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen, hmm?” 

“No, best not.” 

“Good. Because I do love you, Pansy. Even if it took three lies, a few friends, and a wedding to make me admit it.” 

“I think that might be the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten,” she sighed, nuzzling his neck with her nose. 

“Well then Happy Christmas, love. But it won’t end with Christmas.” 

“Good. I think your peace lily would be sad.” She smiled into his neck, and his arms tightened fractionally around her. “Happy Christmas,” she whispered, and out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn the potted peace lily on the mantle shuddered and settled, as if content. She couldn’t blame the plant a bit, because for the first time, perhaps in her life, she was completely, unequivocally, and emphatically happy. 

All because of three lies, a few friends, and a wedding. 


End file.
